The Prodigy: Greatness Has A Price

The Prodigy

Greatness has a price

A. L. Campbell

The Prodigy: Greatness Has A Price

By A. L. Campbell www.theprodigybook.com

Copyright © 2010 by A. L. Campbell.

All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

Smashwords Edition

Published by Rustic Wood Publishing

P O Box 391521,

Snellville, GA 30039

Digital edition created by GoPublished

www.gopublished.com

ISBN: 978-0-9849265-0-3

Library of Congress Control Number:

2011962972

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales in entirely coincidental.

While the author has made every effort to provide accurate telephone numbers and Internet addresses at the time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author assumes any responsibility for errors, or changes that occur after publication. Further, the publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third party websites or their content.

Dedicated to my mentor and friend’s late wife Barbara Burdette and the millions of fans around the world who absolutely love the sport of football and wonder what the future of the sport will look like.

Acknowledgments

Thank you to my family and friends for supporting me with this novel from day one. I wish to express special gratitude to the cover models (left to right) Chris De Ved, Tamsyn Solomon, and Dwayne Johnson. They were an awesome group to work with.

Thank you to Green Island Entertainment for producing such wonderful photography of the cover models. I’d also like to acknowledge my editor Annette for her hard work in helping me make this a truly sensational read.

Last, but not least, I want to send a special thank you to my wonderful son and beautiful wife for encouraging me to believe in myself and the work I produce.

The Prodigy

Greatness has a price.

We invite you to continue your experience and stay updated on the author’s activities with The Prodigy at our website:

www.theprodigybook.com

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Preface

I wrote this book because American Football is the most profitable sport in the world, according to Forbes.com, and the money continues to pile up year after year. We simply love the sport and can’t get enough of it. Regardless of the numerous black eyes the sport receives in the news headlines from various scandals ranging from alleged illegal compensation, rumored back room deals, and unscrupulous acts that end up on police reports, we all remain continuously loyal with our wallets and our viewership. Given the sport’s current culture from high school to college to the pros, what will become of football ten, twenty, or even thirty years from now? I wanted to take readers on a journey to where we are headed at our current pace.

I simply didn’t want to write just another story about football that only fans of the sport would enjoy. I felt compelled to dive deep into the life of the greatest athlete the world has ever seen and examine how he would handle falling in love for the first time, dealing with people who have their own agendas, and, of course, living in the spotlight of the entire multimedia universe before leaving high school and after.

There is indeed something that everyone will take away from The Prodigy. Greatness does come with a price.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1. First Day at Oakridge

Chapter 2. Mr. Somers

Chapter 3. The New Complex

Chapter 4. Senior Year Begins

Chapter 5. The Mystery

Chapter 6. The New Guy

Chapter 7. A New Beginning at Oakridge

Chapter 8. Accepting Your Destiny

Chapter 9. National Recognition

Chapter 10. Andrew and Sage Strike Back

Chapter 11. Mark Wells

Chapter 12. A Perfect Season

Chapter 13. The Decision

Chapter 14. The Big Night

Chapter 15. Welcome to Arizona A&M

Chapter 16. Ranked #5

Chapter 17. Melissa Starr’s Interview

Chapter 18. Everything Begins To Change

Chapter 19. Accusations of Wrong Doing

Chapter 20. The Past Finally Caught Up

Chapter 21. Game Day: #1 vs. #2

Chapter 22. The Aftermath

Chapter 23. Life After Football

Epilogue

Prologue

August 2051

My old friend Carlos won two tickets behind the dugout, including airfare, to see his beloved Los Angeles Dodgers play at home against the Angels. At first, I didn’t want to go when he asked. After all, who wants to see baseball? He never missed a televised Dodgers game for as long as I had known him, and I didn’t want to ruin his excitement. I reluctantly accepted his all-expense paid, one-day trip, even though he blew off several of my invitations to watch football at my house when the Dodgers were playing.

I still can’t believe he won. I have listened to that sports talk radio station for 25 years trying to win tickets to a football game, and I never even made it through on the phone. Sometimes life just isn’t fair.

We landed at LAX at 2:15 p.m. on Friday afternoon. I didn’t want to be a total mooch, so I split the cab fare to Dodger Stadium with Carlos. The cab ride lasted 30 minutes or so. Traffic congestion increased the closer we got to the stadium so we asked the cab driver to drop us off three blocks away from the entrance. All these people are here just to watch a freaking baseball game? I thought.

Carlos and I exited the cab and began our short journey toward the stadium. We passed a couple of hotels and other businesses during our walk. Carlos turned an eight minute walk into a 45 minute nightmare, considering the fact that he had to stop at every other vendor on the way and decide whether he wanted a t-shirt or not. After he decided on a shirt, he had to try to negotiate for a better price. The poor vendor felt sorry for us old guys and gave him a senior discount. I think Carlos just wore him down. Apparently, the vendor didn’t think it was that important to argue over a $2 souvenir.

The short but long walk turned out to be quite an ordeal for my frail legs. I didn’t have the stamina that I had back in my better days.

The Dodgers beat the Angels 4-3 in the longest three hours of my life, but Carlos could not have been more elated. Wearing a new long-sleeve shirt over his faded, wrinkled Dodgers t-shirt, Carlos left the stadium on a natural high.

At 7:40 p.m., the streets in Dodgertown, California, bustled with activity after the game. We headed back in the direction we had come in hopes of getting a cab so we could make our 11:45 p.m. flight back to Phoenix. We thought we would have better luck hailing a cab if we walked a little further from the stadium exit.

While Carlos and I were walking by the Farley Hotel, I thought I heard someone call out for help. I looked around but saw nothing. I asked Carlos, Did you hear that?

Hear what? Carlos responded. Someone yelled ‘help’.

Carlos flagged a cab that was just pulling up to the curb. Nothing’s going on around here except people trying to go home. If someone in this crowd is calling for help, they won’t be getting it from either one of us. We’re outta here!

In actuality, we could have witnessed quite another scene if we had only looked up to the 23rd floor balcony of the Farley Hotel.

Derrick Wright dangled upside down from Suite 2308. Two, tall, muscular men wearing dark suits held each one of Derrick’s ankles, preventing him from plummeting to his death on the sidewalk below. The loud music from the bachelor party directly above in Suite 2408 drowned out his tears and cries for help. The music, along with the exotic dancers, kept the attention of all the men throwing crumpled money at their feet. The only reason Derrick was still breathing was because the men’s boss had not given the order to release him, which normally would have happened without hesitation. Rick Dorset stood about 15 feet away from the action, barely visible in the dimly lit suite, allowing Derrick’s fear to set in before continuing the conversation he began with him moments earlier. Rick stepped out of the darkness onto the balcony so Derrick could hear his every word.

Derrick, I don’t think you understand me perfectly clear. I hope that you can understand me now that you have gotten a little air. Your parents have already spent the money I gave them, so there is no such thing as turning back at this point. Commitments have been finalized. You’ll complete your obligation to me. Do we understand each other now?

Yes, yes. Pull me up. Pull me up! Derrick pleaded.

If we have to have this conversation again, I won’t be so nice. You’re lucky I’ve been seeing a therapist for the last few weeks. Pull this little punk up before someone sees us, he told the men before heading toward the door alone.

The brutes slowly collected the teen from his 23-story nightmare. Once Derrick’s feet made contact with the balcony floor, he collapsed to a seated position with his back to the stone balcony wall. The henchmen could smell the foul stench coming from Derrick’s freshly soiled jeans. They followed Rick out the door laughing over another successful intimidation session and leaving the teenager soaking in humiliation and an unpleasant aroma.

* * *

Traffic began to pick up as everyone started their Saturday morning routines. I was still somewhat exhausted from the late flight home last night. While I listened to my favorite sports talk radio station again hoping I could win something for once, all of a sudden, a breaking news announcement interrupted the commentators’ analysis and interviews from last night’s Dodgers game.

Number one ranked high school running back Derrick Wright held a press conference this morning announcing his decision to stay close to home and play for the University of Southern California Archers. This news shocked most sports fans due to widespread rumors that the five-star athlete made a verbal commitment to a school in Texas. Now back to your regularly scheduled program. I guess all the so-called insider predictions were wrong," I thought. All the sports analysts had been saying for weeks that the kid was going to Texas where he’d fill a much-needed slot.

Once I arrived at Green Acres Cemetery, I parked near my destination so that I only had a short walk. My legs were still sore from walking to that darn Dodgers game yesterday. I locked the doors and maneuvered through the maze of weathered headstones. I tried not to read the many stone tablets aligned row by row with forgotten lives lying down below.

A stark reminder of despair and death, the cemetery is adjacent to a field filled with hope and life. The little league football teams for 8-year-olds held normal fall games just like they did last year when I visited the cemetery and the year before that. I could hear the hopeful parents cheering their little ones on in the distance. Good job, Aaron. Way to go, Thomas. Maybe some of them were hoping that their sons would be playing in front of a national audience one day.

I visit this cemetery once every year during football season to stare at a particular tombstone with which I had become quite familiar. Every year I try not to cry, but every year I fail. I mused, Why did it have to be this way? Why do I still feel responsible for this? That cold box below would be empty if it wasn’t for me. For years I have dealt with this burden, and I don’t see it going away during my lifetime. Maybe I’ll be lucky and not have to wait too much longer. Maybe I’ll be in a cold, dark box very soon, and this pain will finally end.

The wind carried my tears toward the left side of my face. I was grateful because they dried faster that way. Standing there for nearly an hour, I must have lost track of time. Realizing that my daughter, Michelle, and her husband, Roy, would be dropping my grandson off at my house pretty soon, I began walking toward my truck.

* * *

Right after I pulled in my driveway and started to exit my truck, my daughter pulled in behind me and almost immediately began her questions.

Dad, why didn’t you answer your phone? Michelle asked. I tried to call and let you know we were on our way. I was starting to get worried. Where were you?

I was out running errands and didn’t hear it. You know I can’t figure out how to work those new phones half the time, I said without looking her in the eye and instead focusing on my grandson, Tyler. You know my hearing isn’t so good anymore. I lied to my daughter because I didn’t want her to get started on me again. Did you have a safe trip to L.A. yesterday? I know you were looking forward to the game.

I could hear the sarcasm in her voice. It went as expected, I said, just glad she changed the subject.

Tyler reluctantly grabbed his things from his mother’s car and headed in the house. He hardly looked at me, but I could still see the frown on his face. Tyler was very much against a 13-year-old being looked after, especially by his grandfather. He thought he was old enough to stay at home alone.

I shook my son-in-law’s hand and hugged my daughter before they drove off to celebrate their 15th wedding anniversary. They planned to pick Tyler up later that evening after dark. No matter his disposition, I relished the thought of spending an entire day with my grandson.

When I walked in the house, Tyler already had his video game system wirelessly accessed with the big screen monitor in the living room. He sat on the sofa, activating some kind of college football game. After cycling through the team options for several minutes, he finally settled on one.

When I asked him why he chose that team, he said, They have the best quarterback in the universe.

I chuckled at Tyler’s statement because I was familiar with the young quarterback. I disappeared into the attic for a few minutes and then returned with a scrapbook full of old newspaper clippings and pictures. I sat down on the sofa next to Tyler and flipped the book open to the first page. Your generation has no idea what a great quarterback is, I said proudly. Turn that game off and listen carefully, as I tell you the story of the greatest quarterback that ever played the game.

C h a p t e r 1

First Day at Oakridge

August 2018

Miles, are you up? yelled his mother, Melissa, from the kitchen. I don’t want you to be late on your first day."

Yes, replied Miles in a low voice. He wasn’t at all in the mood for loud noises, but it wasn’t for the typical reason teenagers usually don’t like loud noises early in the morning. Miles hadn’t stayed up late the night before partying, playing or hanging out with friends. Instead, the 14-year-old hardly got any rest because he was nervous about his first day at a new school. He spent the night thinking of all sorts of scenarios in which he was either rejected or accepted by the other kids.

Miles was an extremely intelligent young man, so his fears had nothing to do with academic ability. In fact, he was such a gifted student that his grades earned him a grant to attend the prestigious, private institution of learning known as Oakridge Academy, a school normally attended by the children of the wealthiest members of Scottsdale, Arizona, or elite athletes. Miles was neither. One could only say that fate played a role in him getting the opportunity to attend Oakridge.

Melissa worked at a high-end department store in Scottsdale’s Fashion Square Mall. She served extremely wealthy regular customers who ranged from professional athletes to state politicians. Melissa often bragged to her regulars about Miles and how well he performed in school. One day she was assisting Arlene Goldstein, whose husband owned Joseph Goldstein Jewelers, a custom design jewelry store in Scottsdale, and once again commented on Miles’ academic achievements at his public school. Melissa continued to explain how she wished she could afford to enroll him in a prestigious private high school for the next year. Mrs. Goldstein, having grown fond of Melissa and her service over the years, mentioned that she was on the board at Oakridge Academy. She explained that the school created a grant program with limited access for the area’s brightest, underprivileged academic achievers.

Mrs. Goldstein proudly told Melissa that the program was her idea because she wanted to help smart, deserving kids. She detailed the application process to Melissa, excitedly writing down every word of information. Melissa learned that all tuition and book fees would be covered under this grant as long as the student maintained at least a 3.0 grade point average. Melissa was overwhelmed with joy and could not wait to get home to tell Miles. She felt like that day, almost six months ago, was the first day of his journey to a promising professional career.

Emerging from his room, Miles wore dark brown leather dress shoes, khaki slacks, and a short-sleeve, yellow polo shirt with an embroidered school crest on the left. The ensemble comprised standard attire for all male freshmen at Oakridge. The only exception was on game days when plain clothes featuring the school colors of blue and red were permitted. Miles appeared ready for his first day at Oakridge. He walked into the kitchen to find his mother and Aunt Evelyn already seated at the table. Melissa was dressed and ready to drive Miles to school, while his aunt was still in her favorite brown robe sipping on her favorite Columbian brew of coffee.

Miles and Melissa lived with her sister Evelyn ever since Miles came into this world. His mom could not afford a decent place in a safe neighborhood on her income. Evelyn didn’t mind because she lived alone and liked having company. Evelyn was an emergency room physician assistant at Tempe Saint Luke Hospital. She worked long hours and found comfort in knowing relatives occupied her home, especially when she worked third shift.

Miles hooked one strap of his backpack over the upper edge of a kitchen table chair before sitting down to join his mother and aunt at the table. He did not walk into a kitchen with the smell of eggs, bacon, or toast filling the air. Just like every morning as far back as Miles could remember, his mother had her special nutrient-enriched smoothie waiting for Miles in a glass in front of his chair at the table. Evelyn sat at the table sipping from her usual black coffee mug while reading the news on her I-Pad. She watched Miles drink his breakfast as she had every school morning as far back as she could remember, but she had to say something that morning.

It should be a crime to feed a teenage boy such tasteless crap for breakfast, especially today.

Melissa rolled her eyes but didn’t comment. For the average teenager, the mere smell of the concoction would cause vomiting. When Melissa learned she was pregnant with Miles, she committed to raising a healthy child. For years, Melissa studied the benefits of herbs and other plants, such as kelp. She was convinced her nutritional diet plan made her look 10 years younger. She also took credit for Miles’ academic achievements, claiming the supplements and liquids kept his mind sharp and focused, enhancing memorization. There was little room to argue with her, after taking one look at Miles. Did he have any signs of popular teenage acne? No. As a matter of fact, finding any 14-year-old with better looking skin, teeth, or hair proved challenging. If questioned, Evelyn would have trouble remembering the last time he fell ill. He had gone his whole life without catching as much as a cold.

Standing nearly 6 feet tall and weighing 170 pounds, Miles’ sandy hair and deep blue eyes were somewhat of a stark contrast to his pale skin. He was above average height for his age. Solely based on his physical stature, most assumed he was some sort of athlete. However, as long as his mother had any say, he would not participate in activities that would expose him to any type of harm or injury, such as sports.

His mother introduced him to her workout routine when he turned 13. It entailed a combination of yoga and light weight training. Miles resisted at first, but he took a liking to it once he began to notice the results while staring into the bathroom mirror. He even started jogging to increase his cardio endurance.

Because Melissa wanted her son to grow up strong and healthy, she didn’t mind spending extra money on totally organic groceries. Miles was worth it, she thought. Melissa loved knowing that her son avoided consuming all the toxins that food producers exposed society to in processed foods and some fresh vegetation. She felt that she made a statement to the world in her own little way. Evelyn wanted no part of the garbage they consumed daily. She was fine with taking in all the toxins she could, and her appearance indicated that she did just that. Even though Melissa and Evelyn shared similar looks, no one ever confused the two. Evelyn was about 40 pounds overweight and clearly would never fit into her high school prom dress again without some major lifestyle changes. Melissa garnered most of the male attention when they were out in public together.

Just continue to do what you have been doing your whole life; just be yourself, said Melissa, who noticed her son’s constant shuffling in his seat.

Yeah, just stay out of the way of those trust fund babies, and you will be fine, mumbled his aunt in her usual cynical tone. She never had a problem telling anyone exactly what she thought.

Miles sat staring blankly at the remnants of his drink. He knew that it was easy being himself at his old school were everyone came from middle class backgrounds and had a lot in common, but this school was different. He felt that these wealthy kids would take one look at him and know that he was not one of them. He was sure he would spend the next four years of high school without any friends. Still, he tried to bury those thoughts in the back of his mind and to focus on the potential this opportunity offered. Miles, like his mother, knew that if he graduated from Oakridge Academy, he would have his choice of universities to pursue his dream of becoming a doctor. Miles knew he had to figure out a way to channel any apprehension or negative thoughts into a four-year plan of motivation.

* * *

Twenty minutes after leaving home, Melissa dropped off Miles in the Oakridge Academy student parking lot. Miles exited his mom’s blue 2012 Honda sedan and pulled his backpack over his right shoulder after retrieving it from the back seat.

Have fun, I love you, and remember what I said, Melissa encouraged Miles.

Miles waved goodbye and began walking toward the school entrance. He immediately began to realize the world he was venturing into as he walked up the sidewalk. He saw several students exiting their vehicles. They paid no attention to the new guy heading in the same direction. The students were either engaged in conversation with each other or chattering away on their satellite phones gripped firmly to their chins. A stranger to the campus may have thought he or she was at a car show. Miles